Both My Anchor And Life Preserver
by Ashley5627
Summary: Sometimes bad things happen. Sometimes you need someone to be your anchor, life preserver, to keep you afloat while at the same time, anchored to reality. Sometimes you need a lighthouse to tell you which way is home. Sometimes you need a superhero, not one with a cape, but with a badge. Sometimes you need Peter Burke to put everything back together. Neal!Whump.
1. A Cut That Runs Deep

**This story will only be three chapters long and about 6,000 words long. It's a story I've been slowly working on for some time now and I finally got the ending right.**

The knife tore a jagged path through Neal's stomach, leaving a trail of fire in its wake, a polar-opposite to the cold rain pouring heavily down on them. Neal gasped in shock and pain as he looked into the cold eyes of a man that wasn't known to resort to violence. Their intel was definitely wrong.

Right when Neal thought it couldn't hurt any worse, Carlos leaned in close and whispered, "Snitch," right in his ear, then twisted the blade, pulled it out harshly and he felt a kind of agony he didn't think was possible. Neal let out a choked gasp and watched as the man ran away, disappearing into the rainstorm raging around them.

Neal put a hand over the wound and fell to his knees, hitting the cracked cement with bruising force. He could only control the rest of his descent, so he purposely leaned backwards so he didn't land on his face. His head bounced off the cold, wet ground, sending more pain through him, though it paled in comparison to the fire in his stomach.

He could feel the blood that was supposed to be inside of him flow freely between his fingers and pool onto the cement around him. It was a strange feeling, one that he didn't want to feel again, if he made it out of this mess alive.

The buzzing in his ears got quieter - how long had that been there? - and he could hear Peter yelling at him, but he couldn't make out the words between the buzzing, the thrumming of rain hitting the ground and the metal roof of a nearby warehouse and his own gasping breath. Neal looked around to see if he could spot his scowl, but the cracked and overgrown parking lot was empty, save for a lone conman that was bleeding to death in the rain.

Right, it was the two-way earpiece he was hearing, a nice upgrade from the one-way watch that he usually wore. "Neal, answer me, dammit!" he could finally hear Peter say.

What was the come-and-save-my-ass-word again? "Fancy," Neal mumbled between breaths. "Fancy." Neal had thought it was a weird activation word, but Peter had told him that he could come up with the activation words when he became an FBI agent. That wasn't really fair as he no longer had that choice - people with criminal records couldn't go to Quantico. It had something to do with not wanting criminals being the ones to take down other criminals. Though, Neal mused, he was doing just that with the FBI, with Peter.

Neal heard Peter curse and focused back on what he was saying. "Neal, what happened? Where's Carlos?" he asked and it sounded like he was trying his best to stay calm. But that didn't seem right - Peter was always calm, unless Neal had done something stupid. Neal didn't remember doing something stupid recently though, so why would Peter be upset? A question for another time, Neal supposed.

"Stabbed," he mumbled. "Carlos stabbed me." The agony that was inside of him became even worse when he said anything, so it was all he could tell Peter. Water got into his eyes as he stared blearily up at the gray sky, the clouds so thick and dark that it didn't even seem like daytime anymore. But he didn't look away since it seemed like it would take too much effort.

Neal could hear Peter cursing again and giving out orders as his eyes closed by their own accord, serendipitously stopping the ran from getting into them. Peter would probably be mad at him for sleeping on the job, but he was just resting, waiting for Peter to come and fix everything, just like he always did.

"I'll be there in just a minute, okay?" Peter said, but Neal really didn't think he had the energy to respond. "Neal, talk to me, please," he said when Neal didn't answer. He sounded upset. Neal must have really done something stupid.

"Hurts," Neal said, because what else was there to say? He could feel the coldness of the wet ground seeping into his skin and deep into his bones as if he was becoming part of it. Maybe he was.

Neal opened his eyes, ignoring the rain that wanted to blind him, when he heard footsteps and suddenly Peter, wet and worried looking, was kneeling next to him. He got there much faster than Neal had thought was possible being as the van was parked three blocks away. But he didn't waste time thinking about that because Peter was here now and he would fix it, or at least try. Neal wasn't sure he could this time, though.

"I'm here, Neal. You're okay," Peter said as he hovered over Neal, blissfully blocking the cold rain from hitting his face. But that didn't seem accurate. He was dying and that didn't seem to be anywhere close to okay. Then again, Peter did say it, so it must be true. Peter was a good man and he didn't lie like Neal did.

"I'm okay," Neal said. He didn't know if it was a question or a statement, even though he was the one that said it.

"Yeah, buddy. You're going to be fine. Helps coming," Peter said, then mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'Sorry,' and the pain that Neal had been trying so hard to keep at bay came back with a vengeance. He cried out and arched his back while pushing fruitlessly at the ground with his expensive Italian leather shoes to try to just get some leverage on the pain, but nothing stopped the waves from pulling him down.

He could hear a voice above the water that was crushing him down. It was the man that was always there for him, his life preserver that would keep him afloat during the raging storm inside of his belly. Peter. "Neal, stay with me," he said urgently.

Neal reached out blindly for some sort of anchor so he could stay with Peter, because he didn't want to go, he didn't want to be sucked under the waves, never to be seen again. He felt something grip him - no, some _one_ \- the one that always brought him back from oblivion, no matter how far he fell.

"I got you. I got you," Peter said, and Neal believed him, because Peter - a good, honest man - wouldn't lie about something like that.

There were other voices now, and other sounds. He could just make out Diana's voice, but not what she was saying. Neal's gaze searched her out until he could see that she was standing near his feet, also quite wet, looking strangely concerned. Mozzie had always been way better at reading lips, but Neal still tried to read hers anyway - she could've been talking about something important, after all. "We got Carlos. Jones is sitting on him," Diana's lips said, then something else that Neal didn't quite catch.

Neal knew what Diana said was just a figure of speech, but the image her words brought up made him laugh. But damn, that hurt. Peter looked at him like he had just lost his mind. That was a little funny too for some reason, but Neal resisted laughing again being as it really, really hurt last time.

He could hear sirens in the distance now and his finely-honed flight instinct kicked in. Sirens meant you messed up and it was time to run or get caught. The latter wasn't an option. He tried to sit up, to run away before the sirens got here, but a strong hand gently but forcefully pushed him back down. He didn't want to go to jail, not again. The hand must not have understood that. "No, don' wan't to go," he said, but his words were slurring for some reason.

"You're not going anywhere," Peter said determinedly. Peter wouldn't let them take him away. Neal didn't want the waves or the sirens to take him away, but he'd let the hand take him away. The hand would take him someplace safe and warm. It would take him home. He wanted to go home. It was so cold on the ground of this abandoned parking lot on the edge of the city with the rain soaking him through-and-through, but the hand on his abdomen and in his own hand was warm. Maybe wherever the hands were was home.

"Neal, open your eyes," Peter ordered and Neal obeyed because Peter sounded really upset and Neal didn't like when Peter was upset. He hadn't remembered closing them, but obviously he did because he had to open them.

Peter gave Neal a very fake smile and Neal wondered if he was dying. He knew his chances were slim, if the amount of blood pooling around him was any indication, so it seemed likely. Maybe Peter would know.

"Am I dying?" Neal asked, causing Peter to look up sharply, his eyes wide with something that looked like fear, but Neal wasn't sure as the look never really came across the man's face often.

"No, you're not dying," he said determinedly. "I'm not going to let that happen, you hear me?"

Of course Neal could hear him, he was right next to him, even if the rain was a constant cacophony of noise around them. That seemed obvious to Neal, but Peter seemed to be waiting for an answer. "Yeah, I hear you."

"Good," he said, then looked over his shoulder like he was waiting for something. Maybe he _was_ waiting for something, or some _one_. Was it the man that stabbed him? Wait, Jones was sitting on him. Neal laughed painfully again when he thought of Jones sitting on Carlos. Hughes, maybe? Peter seemed to want them to come so it didn't seem like it would be either of them.

Elizabeth? Peter would want her to come, but she wouldn't be coming here, to this cold, forgotten parking lot. Wait, Peter said help was coming. But who would Peter consider help and what would they be helping with? Maybe he should ask.

"Who's coming?" Neal asked, his voice as weak as he felt.

"Help, help is coming," Peter said, which didn't really clear anything up. Neal didn't know what kind of help was coming, but if they were coming to help, which made sense given their name, then Neal wanted them to come, too.

All of this thinking was making Neal tired, so he closed his eyes again. He could feel himself drifting, and the pain and coldness was going away, so he continued to let himself go, to the sweet, painless oblivion that was calling his name like a siren song.

"Neal, you can't sleep now," Peter said, but it almost sounded like he was pleading. Neal hated to hear Peter sound that desperate, so he opened his eyes again. The pain and bone-deep chill that couldn't fully be blamed on the rain came with him and he almost wished that he didn't listen to Peter. But then Peter would have been even more upset, and that wasn't something that Neal wanted, ever.

Neal looked at his friends face, but something didn't look quite right. Why did it look like there were tears in Peter's eyes? It couldn't have been the rain since Peter was looking down at him and the rain hadn't gotten into his eyes like it did Neal's. Neal had never seen Peter cry before. Neal guessed it would be a sad sight. He was too strong of a man to ever even imagine to see crying.

But why would Peter have tears in his eyes? Peter had been answering the rest of Neal's questions pretty well so far, so Neal figured that Peter would answer this one, too.

"Why are you...crying?" Neal asked. It was a lot of effort to get that many words out, but Neal thought it was worth it to know why Peter was so sad.

"I'm not crying, bud," Peter said, but his voice sounded choked up. Peter didn't usually lie, so maybe Neal was imagining things. He wouldn't be surprised - not too many things were making sense to him at the moment.

The sirens were really close now, so maybe help was close. If the arrival of help made Peter happy, then Neal wanted help to come.

There were noises to their right, so Neal looked to see two people, who were also getting soaked from the never-ending rain, coming towards them. They were rolling something along with them, and it took Neal several seconds to figure out that it was a stretcher. Why did they have a stretcher?

They looked like help, but Neal couldn't be sure. Peter would know - he seemed to know everything right now. "Help?" Neal asked Peter, hoping that he didn't have to elaborate what he was asking because just keeping his eyes open was taking up most of his energy.

"Yes, help," Peter said, nodding and making the water dripping from his hair go everywhere. He looked happy to see them, so Neal was happy to see them, too.

They finally made it across the large parking lot, the wheels of the stretcher getting stuck in the large cracks in the cement a few times. They started talking to Peter, but Neal couldn't really make out what they were saying. Peter seemed to be the only one he could hear clearly. Maybe it was selective hearing, but he didn't know he was doing it. Neal supposed he knew now.

One of the helpers pulled Peter away and took his place. The fire inside of him came back with a vengeance and he cried out, the pain almost too much for him to bare. But what had most of Neal's attention was that Peter had let go of his hand and Neal suddenly felt like he was adrift in the sea without his anchor to keep him grounded. If he didn't have his anchor, then the waves would take him away. He wasn't ready to die. Peter didn't know how much he cared about him, how much he appreciated all of the things he had done for him.

"No, no! Peter! Peter!" he called out, desperate for Peter to come back. His voice was nothing more than a whisper and Peter probably couldn't even hear him over the rain. He struggled against the hands that were now all over him, his own weak, bloody hand reaching out blindly for an anchor once again. These hands weren't warm or safe, they were cold and calculating. They didn't care if he was adrift without a lighthouse to tell him which way was shore, which way was home. Neal needed his lighthouse back. "Peter!"

Like a beacon on a stormy night, Peter came to him right when he thought he would be lost at sea forever. Peter took Neal's hand and held on, anchoring him. Neal held on with all of the strength he had left, which wasn't much.

"I got you, Neal. I got you," Peter said. Peter's face was too blurry to tell if he had let those tears fall, but Neal didn't think he would have wanted to know if they had. If Neal saw Peter crying, he didn't think he would have the strength to stop tears from going down his own face.

The cold and calculating hands were doing things that made the pain hit him in powerful waves, but Neal just focused on one hand, the one that wouldn't let the waves take him to the dark depths of the ocean were not even the sun could reach.

Peter kept repeating things over and over, but Neal couldn't hear him anymore. That was okay because Neal knew that he was there, that he wouldn't let the waves or sirens or cold and calculating hands take him away.

With that comforting knowledge, he let everything drift away.

 **The next chapter will be Peter's POV and the one after that will be the conclusion. The next he next chapter will be posted tomorrow, so be ready!**

 **Reviews make me smile!**


	2. How To Save A Life

**I told you guys that I was going to post this chapter today! Well, here it is! Enjoy!**

 **The chapter name is from a song by The Fray.**

Peter, Diana and Jones were all sitting in the van together, their combined body heat and the various machines around them keeping them warm and making them feel sympathetic towards Neal, who had the be out in the cold, rainy weather.

Peter had a hand holding headphones to one ear while he listened intently to the conversation of Neal and Carlos, a man that had been smuggling everything from paintings to illegal immigrants, that was coming through the tiny speaker of the device. Since Carlos insisted on leaving the dry warehouse that he and Neal had met in to assure that if Neal was wearing a wire the rain would short it out, the loud rain distorted their voices slightly. Fortunately they had to talk over the rain so they were loud enough to hear. Carlos was smart, and paranoid, though for good reason since he actually _was_ being recorded. Fortunately the earpiece Neal had was waterproof.

Suddenly there was a strange sound - a gasp, like someone was shocked or in pain. It sounded like it came from Neal. Peter's heart-rate picked up at that thought. There was a soft whisper, but Peter couldn't make out what was said, or even who said it. Then there was another gasp, but this one sounded choked, strangled.

"Neal?" Peter asked into the microphone that was sitting on the desk in front of him. "Neal, is everything okay?"

Peter could hear footsteps splashing in the water on the ground and getting quieter - someone running away. Then there was a dull thudding sound, like something - or someone - hitting the ground. Peter's mind started to panic, thinking of every worse-case scenario possible, but he stopped himself from showing it. His team - Neal - needed him to have a level head.

"Neal, what's going on? Where's Carlos?" Peter asked, his voice as steady as he could manage at the moment.

Over the loud thrumming of the rain, Peter could here a gasping noise and he hoped against hope that Neal had just run away from some kind of danger, that he was trying to catch his breath before he answered Peter. But Carlos wasn't one to resort to violence, so why was Neal running, if he even was?

"Neal, you need to tell me what's going on. Do you want us to come in?"

The gasping got louder, not like someone that was catching their breath, and Peter was seriously concerned now.

"Neal, answer me, dammit!" Peter yelled, maybe a little too loud because Jones jumped and Diana gave him a questioning look.

"Fancy." It was one word, one little word that Peter and Neal had been bickering about only an hour before that twisted Peter's gut into knots. "Fancy."

Peter cursed, then focused back on Neal. "Neal, what's going on? Where's Carlos?" he asked, trying to get ahold of the situation.

"Stabbed," Neal panted breathlessly. "Carlos stabbed me."

Peter cursed vividly all the while his heart was twisting in his chest. "Jones, get us to the warehouse - now," Peter ordered his agent. Then he looked over to Diana to tell her to call for an ambulance, but she was already a step ahead of him, her phone to her ear as she barked out orders into the device.

Jones immediately jumped into the drivers seat and then took off toward the warehouse. Peter and Diana held on to anything they could as Jones sped through the rainy streets towards the warehouse. They didn't have backup with them since it was just supposed to be a routine meet where Neal and Carlos sized each other up. The bust wasn't supposed to go down until Carlos actually showed Neal his smuggling operation. It wasn't supposed to go down like this at all.

"I'll be there in just a minute, okay?" Peter said into the microphone. Neal didn't respond and Peter was getting even more worried. He knew that Neal was still alive because of the harsh breathing he could hear through the headphones that he had glued to his ear, but that still didn't comfort him very much. "Neal, answer me, please," Peter said, his voice getting far too close to desperate.

"Hurts," Neal uttered quietly. Peter wished more than ever that he could take Neal's pain away. He couldn't do anything until he was next to his friend, but it seemed like it was taking forever to get there.

Finally the van made it to the warehouse. All three agents rushed out of the vehicle, guns drawn and ready. The rain was falling down in sheets and they were almost immediately soaked.

Knowing that Neal wasn't inside, they circled the building until they found Neal's prone form in the middle of a parking lot right outside of the warehouse, a diluted crimson puddle next to him. Jones and Diana obeyed protocol and went in the warehouse to make sure Carlos wasn't still around, but Peter, without any hesitation, went straight to Neal.

Neal opened his eyes as Peter got closer. Peter crouched down next to his friend and could see far too much pain and confusion in those cerulean blue orbs. Rain was pounding relentlessly on Peter's back, but he ignored it as he bent over his friend to block some of the rain from hitting his face.

"I'm here, Neal. You're okay," Peter said as confidently as he could. He just hoped that Neal didn't notice the waver in his voice as he looked at all of the blood that had already pooled around Neal's body. Peter knew that the water was making it look like there was so much more than there really was, but it didn't stop him from panicking a little more inside.

"I'm okay," Neal mumbled.

He didn't seem too sure about that so Peter said, "Yeah, buddy. You're going to be fine. Helps coming." Peter wanted to do anything other than cause Neal more pain, but he had to try to stop the bleeding. He gently moved Neal's hand away, unbuttoned Neal's formerly white dress shirt and quickly found the source of all of the bleeding. Peter then took off his soaked jacket while wishing he had something dry to try to stop the bleeding, muttered a quick "Sorry," then press down hard on the wound to staunch the bleeding.

Neal cried out and arched his back in agony as his fancy Italian leather shoes pushed at the ground, his eyes tightly pinched shut against the pain that no doubt just became ten times worse.

"Neal, stay with me," Peter said urgently. Neal's hand reached out blindly for something to hold onto and Peter didn't even hesitate to grab ahold of his friends hand, to anchor him. "I got you. I got you," Peter reassured Neal.

Peter could see Diana approach them out of the corner of his eye. He turned briefly to acknowledge her presence before returning his attention back to Neal. "We got Carlos. Jones is sitting on him. Ambulance is on its way," she reported briskly, then looked worryingly down at Neal as he laughed for no apparent reason, then winced when the movement jarred his wound.

Peter had absolutely no idea why Neal was laughing when he was laying on the ground of an old parking lot, bleeding to death. No - not death. Neal was going to be fine. Like Diana said, an ambulance was on the way. They'd come and put Neal back together and the kid would be back to bugging him and getting into trouble in no time. That was how it was going to happen.

Seconds later Peter could hear sirens in the distance. Relief washed over him at the knowledge that help was close, but it was short-lived when he felt Neal start to struggle under him.

"No, don' wan't to go," he said weakly as he tried to sit up, but Peter gently pushed him back down.

"You're not going anywhere," Peter said, but he was pretty sure they weren't talking about the same thing. Neal stopped struggling and Peter was both relieved and even more worried at the same time because Neal had closed his eyes now. "Neal, open your eyes," he said in a voice that sounded foreign to his own ears.

Neal opened his eyes and locked them with Peter's, much to the agents surprise and relief. Peter gave Neal what he hoped was a reassuring smile, then looked back down at his blood-and-water-soaked jacket that was trying, and failing, to stop the blood from spilling out of his CI, his partner, his friend.

"Am I dying?" Neal suddenly asked, making Peter's head snap up to stare at Neal with something close to terror in his eyes and in his heart.

"No, you're not dying," Peter said with determination that he didn't really feel, but Neal didn't need to know that he was barely holding on. He needed to be strong for Neal, now more than ever. "I'm not going to let that happen, you hear me?"

"Yeah, I hear you," he breathed after a moment.

"Good," Peter said, then looked over his shoulder for a second, wishing that paramedics would just suddenly appear and put his friend back together.

"Who's coming?" Neal asked, his voice so weak that it made Peter worry even more, if that was even possible.

"Help, help is coming," Peter said, praying that it would be in time. Neal was fading fast. When the younger man closed his eyes again and his body relaxed, Peter thought that that was the last time that he would see those sky-blue orbs and that freaked him out. But then he realized that he could still feel Neal's chest moving unsteadily under his hand and that grounded him slightly.

"Neal, you can't sleep now," Peter said, trying to make it sound like a command, but it ended up sounding more like a plea of a desperate man. Maybe it was.

Peter held his breath for the couple of seconds it took for Neal to open his eyes again. Peter could feel his friend tense under him again, no doubt in a lot of pain. His friend then looked strangely at him for some reason, like he was confused or something.

"Why are you...crying?" Neal asked between unsteady breaths. Only then did Peter realize that there were tears in his eyes and that they were alarmingly close to falling.

"I'm not crying, bud," Peter said, his voice strangely rough, only half lying. To officially be crying, you had to have let the tears actually fall, right?

Neal seemed to accept what Peter said. Peter could hear that the ambulance was very close now and he was relieved to see two paramedics come rushing toward then a few agonizing minutes later, a stretcher being wheeled with them and getting soaked to the bone as well.

"Help?" Neal asked quietly.

Even though it was only one word, Peter knew exactly what Neal was asking. "Yes, help," he said with relief.

When they finally reached the duo, one of them started asking questions and Peter tried his best to answer them, but then the other one had him move away from Neal so he could take over. Peter reluctantly let go of Neal's cold, nearly limp hand and stood up so they could save his partner and friend.

When the paramedic pressed down on the wound to staunch the bleeding, Neal cried out, the sound physically painful to Peter's ears and heart. Suddenly Neal started struggling against the people that were trying to help him. The hand that Peter had been holding only seconds ago was reaching out blindly for something to hold onto. "No, no! Peter! Peter!" Neal said, his voice almost too quiet for Peter to hear from where he was standing. "Peter!" Neal wanted - no, _needed_ \- him, needed to know that he wasn't alone in what Peter prayed wasn't the young man's last moments.

Peter knew he was supposed to stay back and let the paramedics do their job, but he couldn't just watch Neal struggle and plead for Peter to come and comfort him. His struggles were making it difficult for the paramedics to help anyway, Peter rationalized as he knelt next to Neal's head and took the questing hand in his own.

Neal seemed to be holding on for dear life, but his grip was still so weak. "I've got you, Neal. I've got you," Peter said as soothingly as he could. Neal kept his pained eyes locked on Peter's as the paramedics worked.

Peter whispered reassuring words to Neal without really knowing what he was saying. Neal seemed soothed by his presence and voice, so he continued to hold his hand and talk to him in a calm tone.

The first thing that told Peter that Neal had passed out was when the younger man's hand went completely limp. Peter had looked briefly down at the mess of Neal's stomach, feeling sick at the sight of Neal's blood outside of his body, but when he felt the hand in his slacken, he looked back up to see that Neal had closed his eyes.

"Neal?" Peter called, maybe a little louder than necessary. Neal didn't make any noise, didn't stir, didn't do anything.

Peter looked to the paramedics for answers. "Is he...?" he asked, waiting with baited breath for the answer but so very afraid of it.

The paramedic next to him shook his head. "No, he's still breathing," he said. Peter let out the breath that he had been holding, almost as if he was afraid to breathe until he knew that Neal still was.

The two paramedics worked quickly and efficiently and soon Neal was on the stretcher that they had brought with them. Peter had to let go of Neal's slack hand, but he was not letting the younger man out of his sight.

As the two paramedics and Peter rushed toward the ambulance that was parked nearby, Peter looked at Diana, who was standing off to the side. The younger agent nodded her head, silently telling him that she had the scene under control. Peter couldn't take care of the aftermath of Carlos stabbing Neal and the whole op being blown, not when Neal was hanging onto life by a thread. He had to be there for his friend.

They finally made it to the ambulance and the two paramedics loaded Neal into the back of the vehicle. Without asking for permission, Peter jumped into the vehicle and sat on a bench next to the stretcher, giving the man that was going to ride in the back a look that told him not to even try to argue. The paramedic, deciding against a fight, jumped in and sat on the bench on the other side of the stretcher that held Neal.

The paramedic quickly bundled Neal with blankets to combat the cold that Neal had been in much longer than Peter had. Only then did Peter realize that he was shivering from the cold. The paramedic handed him a blanket as well. He took it gratefully and wrapped it around his shoulders while he continued to stare at Neal's slack face.

An oxygen mask had been put over Neal's nose and mouth, making him look even more alien. His usually perfectly coiffed hair was plastered to skin that was so deathly pale while the blood covering him was so red. There was so much blood. Too much blood. How was Neal still alive?

Peter took Neal's limp hand in his. The younger man was so cold, so still - it was terrifying. Neal was always in motion, playing with his silly hat that made him look like a cartoon character or the pen that he had proudly won by cracking an identity-theft ring or the rubber-band ball he had found tucked away in some drawer one of the first days he had started working with Peter - just doing things. He could never hold still, one of the reasons he could never stand the van, but now he was so, so still. It was so wrong.

Peter took a deep breath, then let it out of his nose. Neal was going to be okay - he had to be. Peter wouldn't accept anything other than Neal making it out of this alive.

Sirens and flashing lights cleared a path through congested New York traffic, allowing the ambulance to bring its precious cargo to the hospital as fast as possible. They'd make it there in time - there was no other option.

 **Well, there's chapter two! The next and last chapter will be up tomorrow. It's much shorter than the other two, but good things come in small packages, too!**

 **Reviews make me smile!**


	3. Not All Heroes Wear Capes

**Here's the last chapter! I hoe you guys have enjoyed this little story!**

Over six long hours later, Peter was sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair next to an unconscious but, thankfully, alive Neal. He had needed surgery to repair the damage that the knife had caused and he had lost a lot of blood, but he pulled through. He was nearly hypothermic by the time he got to the hospital, but that had actually helped slow the bleeding. His body temperature was within the normal range now and he was well on his way to recovery. Now all he had to do was wake up, which didn't seem to be happening any time soon.

Peter raked a tired hand through his hair, noticing with some distress that his hairline felt a little higher than the last time he checked. "I swear, kid, I'll be bald by the time your sentence is up," he muttered to the unresponsive man next to him.

Peter stared at Neal's unusually unmoving body, at the young man's still pale skin and at the IV that was sticking out of the back of his hand, then sighed and stood up to pace in front of the bed that Neal was laying in. "You can't ever let a case be simple, can you?" he asked angrily, not really blaming Neal for Carlos stabbing him, he just couldn't get the image of all of that blood and Neal's pained eyes out of his mind. It had been too close today, too much at risk. Something important, something precious, could have been lost, something Peter didn't even know how much he'd miss until it was nearly taken away from him.

"You just _had_ to get yourself stabbed. In a rainstorm, I might add," Peter continued, even though Neal couldn't actually hear him. "You know, everyone at the office is calling you a hero. All you did was get in the way of a knife. I really don't see what's so heroic about that." Peter knew that he didn't really mean what he was saying, but he had a tendency to express emotions like fear and the platonic type of love that Peter realized he felt towards Neal as anger and annoyance.

Peter stopped his pacing to stare through the rain-streaked window at an unimpressive view of the wet hospital parking lot when an unexpected voice startled him. "Are you lecturing me while I'm unconscious?" the husky, tired voice asked.

Peter quickly turned around to see two sleepy but amused blue eyes staring at him under heavy eyelids. "You're not unconscious anymore," Peter pointed out, not answering the question and trying to hide the smile that wanted to creep onto his face. It was nice to see the blue eyes of his friend that women swooned over after today's scare.

"Yeah, because of your loud lecturing," Neal complained, though there was no heat to it.

"Well, I wouldn't have to lecture you if you didn't nearly give me a heart attack every other day," Peter said with as much heat as Neal had used.

"Now you're lecturing me while I lay here in a hospital bed, wounded?" Neal asked with his best puppy dog eyes, which were quite impressive. The kid had obviously been practicing.

"I'm not lecturing you, I'm just stating that you getting in trouble all the time is not good for my health," he said, then touched the top of his head. "Or my hair."

"You can't blame me for aging, old man," Neal mocked, smirking widely.

Peter scowled deeply at Neal. He was not _old_. "Just because I'm older than you doesn't mean I'm old."

"Just because I accidentally got stabbed doesn't mean I'm causing you to go bald," Neal countered.

Peter pursed his lips together for a moment. "Agree to disagree?" he finally offered.

"Fine," Neal acquiesced, then shifted only to wince when the movement pulled at his wound. "Am I going to live? 'Cause it sure doesn't feel like it," he asked, his voice laced with pain as he decided that the position he was in was comfortable enough.

"It was a close one, but you'll heal," Peter said, nodding absentmindedly as he tried not to think of how close it really had been.

Neal nodded, then his eyes grew serious as he blinked up at Peter. "Peter?" he asked. Peter took a step forward, concerned about what Neal was about to ask him. "Are they really calling me a hero?" he asked with innocent hopefulness.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Only the women that think you're some kind of walking Greek statue and that new guy that I'm pretty sure has a crush on you," Peter muttered in annoyance.

Neal smiled widely, eyes shining with mischief and full of cockiness once again. "Do you think I'll get a medal?" he asked hopefully.

"No, Neal, you won't get a medal," Peter said exasperatedly, then sobered. "But we did get Carlos, thanks to you."

"You think I'm a hero, too, don't you?" Neal asked teasingly.

"I think you're a pain in my butt...But you also did a good job today, aside from getting stabbed," Peter added, putting enough humor in his voice to let Neal know he didn't actually blame him.

"It's fine. You don't have to admit it out loud," Neal allowed, then blinked sleepily and yawned with a small wince.

"Get some sleep, kid. I'll be here when you wake up," Peter said as he gave into the urge to ruffle Neal's dark, wavy hair.

"Not a kid," Neal murmured, his eyes already nearly closed. Right before he gave into the drug-induced slumber, he looked Peter in the eye as he turned serious once again. "Not all heroes wear capes, Peter," he said softly, the few words speaking volumes of how he felt about the agent in front of him.

Peter smiled fondly as Neal finally closed his eyes. The agent then sat back down in the same uncomfortable plastic chair next to Neal and continued his bedside vigil, not willing to let Neal out of his sight again just yet.

 **The End**

 **To answer a question that a few people have asked, l am** ** _not_** **giving up on my other two stories! I have just been slowly working on this story for a while and wanted to post it.**

 **Your reviews made me smile!**


End file.
